


Brighter Than Starlight (Falling Into Darkness)

by kereia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dominant Rey, Empress Rey, F/F, Force Lightning, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Loyalty Kink, Mild Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 11:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: Most of the time, Rey used the Force to heal the marks she left on Phasma's body, such as the wound in her side, but occasionally Phasma would ask her to leave a scar for remembrance. Even more rarely, when the cuts where shallow, and their time together had been particularly intense, Phasma would ask her to leave them as they were and let her body heal the damage on it's own.





	Brighter Than Starlight (Falling Into Darkness)

**Author's Note:**

> Eh. I take no responsibility for the whole lightsaber hilt = vibrator thing. That's on the design team. Especially whoever came up with Dooku's. ;)

She stood in front of the oculus and watched a fleet of TIE-fighters return from their reconnaissance mission while General Hux droned on about his scouts' failures to track down what was left of the Resistance.

"It's been two weeks, General,” she interrupted him impatiently. “The Resistance has few friends left, and considering the amount of resources I put at your disposal, this continued lack of results is... disappointing,"

"It's a very small group of people, Empress. They've hidden themselves well."

Excuses.

Her touch was light and subtle when she pushed into his mind, but she still saw Hux stiffen out of the corner of her eye. Uncaring, she dove through surface thoughts of mission reports to find Hux's own frustration with the scouts' failure.

He wasn't lying to her. Not about this, at least. Though deep beneath the surface of his mind, she could feel the vast stretch of an ocean, every drop filled with resentment and every current flowing with ambition.

He'd not been happy to find her next to Snoke's bisected body on the floor of the _Supremacy._ She'd seen him reach for his blaster when she'd clawed her way back to consciousness.

It was something neither of them acknowledged, he, biding his time until another opportunity came along, and she, preferring to lull him into a false sense of security in order to determine who would support a coup d'etat.

"If I may, Empress?" Phasma interrupted.

The captain stood like a silent sentinel behind Hux, her armor-clad body a towering presence even next to the tall general.

Keeping her back towards them, Rey turned her head and inclined it in encouragement.

"One of my lieutenants told me that they'd overheard a group of engineers talking about the Millennium Falcon stopping on Kuat for repairs. Apparently, one of the engineers has a cousin who works there."

"And the Falcon is a very recognizable ship. How bold of them," Rey mused.

Hux cleared his throat. "It could be a ploy to draw our attention to Kuat, when the Resistance has most likely already acquired a different ship."

"Perhaps," Rey agreed. "But I still want you to make inquiries. Leave no stone unturned, General." She sank some of her own frustration into the words, letting Hux feel the bite as if it were a blade sliding between the vertebrae of his spine.

He bowed stiffly. "Yes, Empress."

Only when he'd departed, did Rey turn around.

"Do you think he'll ever work up the nerve to kill me?" she mused idly.

"He killed his own father, Empress. I doubt his ambitions ended there," Phasma replied.

The empress smiled. "Good. It will make this little game much more interesting."

She slowly walked around behind her captain, giving her powerful form an appreciative perusal. "I have been informed that you have recovered from your injuries."

In spite of the fact that Phasma's back was already as straight as a lightsaber blade, the captain somehow managed to give the impression that she came to attention at her words.

"Yes, Empress. It was barely anything worth talking about."

Rey's eyebrows twitched upward. "Barely anything worth talking about?" she repeated in a low voice as she came up behind Phasma's shoulder. "And yet, you let the traitor get away?"

Calling on the Force, she let the faintest breath of Force lightning skitter over Phasma's armor – not as a punishment, but an invitation – and listened with flagrant delight for the small gasp it elicited in her captain.

At once, Phasma sank to her knees. "Forgive me, Empress," she said. "There is no excuse for my failure."

Stepping to her side, Rey placed her palm on the top of Phasma's helmet.

“We both failed. It was hardly a day of glory for any of us.”

“You took your rightful place on the throne,” Phasma reminded her, and though Rey could not see her face, there was such a strong note of devotion in her captain's voice that it calmed her restless mind and soothed some of her frustration.

She crouched down in front of Phasma and cradled her armored head between her hands with something akin to tenderness. "My rightful place?" she asked quietly. “There are few who share that opinion. Hux is not the only one who thinks I'm too young and inexperienced to lead the First Order.”

“They are fools, Empress,” Phasma said, the weight of conviction behind her words.

Her eyes alight, Rey leaned in and touched her forehead lightly against the cold, curving metal of Phasma's helmet.

"My loyal captain," she whispered.

It was a measure of the trust between them, that Phasma didn't try to conceal her reaction to those words. A violent spasm of pleasure shuddered through her tall, muscular body, and Rey's smile widened at the unguarded, needy noise that rumbled through the back of Phasma's throat.

"I am glad that you recovered from your injuries," Rey told her. "And you deserve to be rewarded for succeeding where Hux failed. Tell me, what boon would you ask of your Empress?"

"I serve at your pleasure," Phasma said. Her voice was rough with emotions neither one would ever acknowledge, but that didn't stop Rey from feeling that hoarse, breathless string of words curl around the length of her spine until it settled low and deep against her tailbone – a constant, liquid pulse of warmth that ached between her legs and made her labia slick with arousal.

"You live at my pleasure, Phasma. It's the only way you know how."

"Yes, Empress."

Rey pressed a gentle kiss to the cold metal above Phasma's brow and rose to her feet. "Remove your armor and clothes. You may keep your mask for now."

"Thank you, Empress."

Still kneeling, Phasma unclasped the buckles of her body armor. Her hands were steady but nimble as she quickly detached the left arm and glove.

"Slowly," Rey commanded.

Phasma's fingers froze for barely a second before she carefully, conscientiously, placed the removed piece onto the floor next to her knee. The other arm soon followed.

Rey let her eyes wander across each exposed limb. Every new inch of pale, soft skin revealed stoked the heat inside her – the desire to claim that enticing blend of power and fragility that was Phasma's body – to mark skin that hadn't been warmed by sunlight, caressed by wind, or touched by rain for over a decade.

There was a measure of meticulousness to the way Phasma undressed. Each item of armor was placed next to the last, the width between them always exactly the same. There was no variance and no exception. By the time Phasma had stripped down to her under armor, the pieces of her suit were spread out in a half circle in front of her, every item aligned toward her kneeling body.

Placing her hands in front of her, she pushed herself backwards, only to start the same process over again, though instead of the soft, sharp clank of her armor, it was now the whisper of fabric that filled the dead silence of the throne room.

Neither of them spoke, and Rey felt the tension ratchet up between them as she hungrily surveyed the feast before her – powerful muscles beneath acres of supple, pale skin. Her eyes traced across scars both old and new, some from injuries incurred on the battle field, some inflicted with a careless swipe in the training grounds.

Rey ignored these. She didn't like them, didn't like that someone had dared to mark – to hurt – her captain, who had no claim on her.

But the other scars… oh, the other ones, Rey loved.

She loved them because they belonged to her.

The letters between her shoulder blades, where Rey had written her old name – her secret name – with the hand-warmed edge of a dagger's blade. The scars were so faint that they were barely visible to the naked eye, but every time Rey let her eyes linger on the long, strong line of Phasma's back, it sent a thrill through her.

Her little secret.

The name 'Rey' had not been spoke since Snoke had taken her in, since he had told her that Rey of Jakku – worthless orphan girl – must die in order for the Lady of Ren to rise.

And she had risen. Risen beyond even Snoke's expectations. Ascended to stand as his equal before she surpassed him, took his life, and seized command of his army.

Her breathing deepened as she approached Phasma again. Her hand came to rest on the letters on her back, letters that Phasma had never seen, that she had accepted as a gift, as unquestioning and loyal as she accepted everything else that Rey gave her.

Her eyes traced the ragged scar along the line of Phasma's ribs – Rey still remembered the look of rapture on Phasma's face when she'd climaxed as the knife cut into her skin.

The faint circle on the swell of her buttock, where Rey had indulged a moment of post-coital whimsy, while Phasam had still been chasing her release. The mark wasn't perfect. It had been difficult to maintain a steady hand, with Phasma writhing and twisting inside her restrains as Rey commanded her not to come in spite of the lightsaber hilt she'd shoved deep into her cunt.

Rey hummed quietly in appreciation of the memory. Her broken Kyber crystal had always made the hilt vibrate when the blade was ignited. It presented an unacceptable distraction in battle, but Rey had always been industrious. After half a year of experimentation she had not only eradicated the vibration through the addition of side-vents, but added a second setting, which contained the blade altogether and channeled the energy that normally fueled it into deeper and stronger vibrations.

Of all the grievances that could be laid at her feet, no one would say that Rey had ever turned a blind eye to opportunity when it presented itself.

Her hands skimmed along the corded line of Phasma's shoulder. Her touch was gentle – a slow appreciation of the hardness she found beneath her palm, the shift of muscles as Phasma bent lower to remove her pants.

Once all of Phasma's clothes were laid out, Rey stood in front of her, cupped her hands around the hard line of Phasma's helmet, and gently tilted her face up.

"Get up," she ordered.

When Phasma rose before her, it felt as if a live current rushed through Rey from the very tips of her fingers all the way down to her toes. Rey was not small, but Phasma's tall, naked body towered over her, vulnerable for all it's strength and soft for all it's muscles.

Skirting the assortment of clothes on the floor, Rey walked back towards the oculus and set down on her new throne. Leaning back, she watched Phasma follow her, took in the way she moved confidently across the room, her pale skin a stark contrast against the black walls that surrounded them.

Rey felt her throat go dry when her eyes followed the swell of her breasts to the shifting muscles on her thighs. She caught sight of the shallow marks that crisscrossed along the tender skin on their insides.

Her breath quickened.

"You kept them," she said breathlessly as Phasma sank to her knees in front of the throne.

"Yes, Empress."

Most of the time, Rey used the Force to heal the marks she left on Phasma's body, such as the deep wound in her side, but occasionally Phasma would ask her to leave a scar for remembrance. Even more rarely, when the cuts where shallow, and their time together had been particularly intense, Phasma would ask her to leave them as they were and let her body heal the damage on it's own.

The cuts on her thighs had been so delicate, that Bacta patches should have closed the skin without leaving a trace of the blade that had split her skin.

Phasma sat back on her heels, and Rey followed her down. She let her fingertips ghost along the impossibly soft, warm skin on the inside of Phasma's knees, up and up, until she felt the ridged scar tissue underneath her touch.

She saw the way Phasma's stomach muscles fluttered, and her own body tightened in response.

"You reopened them" she stated breathlessly. "Why?"

Keeping her head bowed, Phasma shifted slightly and spread her knees. It allowed Rey to press the entire breadth of her palm possessively against the scars, and she took full advantage of it.

"It felt good," Phasma answered, her voice thick with arousal. "It felt good to remember."

Rey's heart did a small, delighted flip. She wasn't sure what image was more enticing – the memory of Phasma screaming her release after Rey had edged her for hours with a blade thin and sharp enough to leave a thousand paper cuts, or the idea of Phasma, alone in her quarters without armor or mask, reopening the cuts while she relieved the moment – while she made sure that the marks Rey had left on her skin would be permanent.

Pressing another kiss to the mask that covered Phasma's face, Rey pushed her hands higher up the inside of Phasma's powerful thighs and teased her fingers through the wet folds of her labia.

"I've been neglecting you," she murmured against the metal underneath her lips.

Her fingertip barely skimmed across Phasma's clit, eliciting a slight, breathy moan that was quickly stifled.

"You took on a cause far greater than yourself. That's more important than the indulgence in physical pleasure," Phasma gasped. Her voice held the conviction of a true believer.

A thoughtful sound rose inside Rey's throat as she casually lifted her hand to tug sharply on Phasma's left nipple. The aureole was already pebbled, and Rey couldn't resist the pleasure of rolling it between her fingers, of kneading the full swell of Phasma's breast and watch the supple flesh move beneath her touch – to feel Phasma's body undulate against her, to feel her hips jerk upward, chasing the elusive touch of the hand Rey still had buried between her captain's thighs.

"Ruling the First Order holds little temptation without these indulgences to remind me that there are things worth fighting for," she finally said.

And to underscore her point, she pressed two of her fingertips into Phasma's body and channeled a tiny spark of Force lightning through them – not enough to hurt, not yet, not until Phasma needed it, not until she begged her for it – but strong enough to make her gasp and shudder against the current, to watch her hips rise, and her fists clench, before she ground herself back down against Rey's steady hand, pushing her fingers deeper into her body.

"It is– it is my honor to serve as that reminder, Empress," Phasma gasped.

A noise of satisfaction rumbled in Rey's chest as she felt Phasma's slick coat her fingers.

"Lean back and spread your legs wider," she ordered.

Phasma complied without hesitation. Her head fell back as she braced herself with her hands behind her back, exposing the long, strong column of her neck beneath the edges of her mask, and a hoarse, lewd moan tore out of her when Rey added two more fingers to the ones already buried inside her body.

She curled them into the slick, velvet softness of Phasma's cunt, pressing two against the rough patch on the upper wall as she began to pump her hand in and out of Phasma's body.

"Such a good captain," Rey purred. "You follow your orders so well."

Phasma shuddered, her entire body clenching around Rey's hand as a broken gasp fell from her throat.

Rey immediately pulled her hand away. She ignored the uncharacteristic little whine of protest that followed.

"I really have been neglecting you, if you're already this close after we barely got started," she mused.

The little whine gave her a thrill. It was rare for Phasma to lose control like that, and the knowledge that Phasma would kill anyone who saw her this way – needy and wanton and unraveling, with her limbs spread wide, and her cunt dripping with arousal – only added to the enticement Rey felt whenever Phasma put herself at her mercy.

There was something addictive to having her orders followed without question.

She reached underneath the hem of her sleeve and pulled out the tiny, leaf-shaped blade she kept hidden there.

"You are not allowed to come until I say so. Do you hear me?"

Phasma turned her head towards the blade, and Rey knew even without seeing her face, that her gaze was riveted to the way the light glinted off the razor-sharp edge. There was a sense of breathless anticipation in the air.

"Do you hear me?" she repeated, her tone sharp when Phasma didn't immediately answer.

Her body visibly jerking, Phasma nodded. "Yes," she rasped.

"You want to be good for me, don't you?" Rey asked softly as she pressed the flat side of the blade against Phasam's right nipple.

Phasma gasped. "Yes, Empress."

"My loyal captain," Rey said quietly and tilted the blade with one hand, while her other one tugged at Phasma's left nipple, Force lightning sparking around Rey's fingertips.

The sound that tore out of Phasma's throat was barely human. Rey could see the strain in her neck, the tension in every single muscle as her captain forced herself to remain perfectly still. Yet, her chest rose and fell with every labored breath, and Rey watched delightedly as the muscles in her abdomen tightened erratically.

Withdrawing both hands, Rey fastened her mouth to the underside of Phasma's chin and bestowed a hot, open-mouthed kiss onto the ridged tendons in her neck.

"I will give you a choice," Rey whispered against her skin. "The blade, or the lightning? Which one do..."

"Both," Phasma chocked out before Rey could even finish the sentence. "I want everything. Everything you'll give me."

Rey laughed softly against her neck. "Such an eager girl." She sat back on her heels. "Do you think you've been good enough to deserve both?"

There was no meanness in her voice when she asked the question, only a mild curiosity of which she was rather proud, considering that the way Phasma trembled beneath her hands had her pants soaked through with her own arousal and staggered waves of heat pulsing between her legs.

"I don't think you've earned it. Not yet. You did let the traitor get away, after all."

Her fingertips skimmed along Phasma's breast, down the taut line of her stomach, past the gentle curve in her abdomen until they reached the wet heat between her thighs, sparks dancing in her wake. Phasma whimpered softly, and the sound went straight to Rey's cunt.

"One or the other?" she repeated.

"Lightning," Phasma finally rasped, the words falling from her lips like a prayer.

Rey smiled.

She stood and divested herself of all her clothes below the waist before she settled on her throne. Throwing her legs across the armrest on either side, she bared herself to Phasma, her gaze both command and invitation.

"A good choice," she said.

For her part, Phasma all but fell on her, tearing her helmet off to bury her face between Rey's legs with an eagerness that made Rey laugh. Phasma moaned against her folds, her large hands scooping Rey's bare ass into her hands to lift her further against her mouth.

Rey threw her head back, her laugh turning into an undignified little scream as her hands clenched in Phasma's short, blond hair. "Oh, kriff," she gasped.

Phasma ate her out with the same single-minded dedication that she brought to every task her Empress demanded of her.

Heat unfurled inside of Rey – a tidal wave, building momentum with every brush of Phasma's tongue along her labia, with every flick against her clit, with every dip inside the wetness of her body.

Curling her stomach muscles, Rey pushed her captain's face deeper between her thighs, which drew such a filthy, resonating moan out of Phasma's throat that Rey saw stars explode before her eyes as she climaxed. Leaning forward, she placed her hand between Phasma's shoulder blades, her palm pressing against the name etched into her skin.

It was hard to summon enough concentration to control the lightning, to make sure it wouldn't damage her, but Rey closed her eyes and dove deep, until she could see it flow through her, saturating every cell of her body, until she found the focus to command and shape it to her will.

Moments later, Phasma's body surged beneath her hold. A low, needy groan spilled into Rey's cunt as the Force danced sharply across Phasma's skin – more a wave of pressure than the burn of lightning – down the column of her long, curved spine to find it's target deep between her legs.

Rey shivered with her, the sting riding effortlessly on that sharp, thin line where pleasure met pain.

Phamsa buried her face between Rey's thighs like a woman possessed. Rey could feel the nip of teeth along her inner folds and cursed softly, even as her hips rocked forward, her body desperate for more of the dark, sweet pleasure that only Phasma could incite in her. Another spark of lightning ran from her hand along the wide expanse of Phasma's back, and the captain shuddered, her powerful body fighting not to succumb, fighting not to defy her empress's command.

Panting, Rey let the Force flow between them again and again, reveling in the way Phsama's body spasmed, in feeling her tremble beneath her palm, in the desperate, broken sounds she wrung from Phasma's mouth. Another climax built inside her, and she hovered on the edge of it for so long that she started writhing and bucking against Phasma's eager, unrelenting mouth, ordering her to shove first two, then three, then four finger's into the tight confines of her cunt.

But it wasn't until Phasma looked up at her – until her piercing blue gaze met Rey's for the first time that night, and the Empress saw the fervent devotion and unbending loyalty laid bare in her captain's eyes – that she came, her pleasure eclipsing everything that had come before.

"Such a good captain," she whispered hoarsely, her hand tenderly wiping tears from Phasma's eyes. "You've been so good. You've earned your treat."

And while her legs still twitched with aftershocks, she pulled Phasma into her arms, kissed her hungrily, and buried three fingers inside her dripping cunt. She let the Force pulse through Phasma – waves upon waves of increasing heat and power – until Phasma's mouth fell open in a silent scream, her muscles clenching around Rey's fingers when she came, slick gushing, thick and wet, over Rey's hand.

Afterward, Rey cradled Phasma's panting body against her chest, and soothingly stroked her captain's tussled hair.

"Thank you, Empress," Phasma said, her words barely more than a hoarse whisper against Rey's tunic.

Rey tenderly kissed her sweat-slicked brow and pulled her deeper into her embrace.

"Always."

There was always the temptation to use Phasma's exhaustion to slip into her mind undetected – to see what lay below the surface of duty and devotion – and see whether or not her loyalty was true, but Rey refrained.

She always did.

Trust was a rare commodity in this galaxy, and Rey would not betray it, not to merely satisfy her curiosity. And if that made her vulnerable, if it left her open to an attack from someone feigning subservience while biding their time as she had done with Snoke and Hux was doing with her, well then...

Snoke would have said that it was a game well played.

 


End file.
